


The Morning After

by Rod



Category: CI5: The New Professionals
Genre: Case Fic, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 13:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rod/pseuds/Rod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has to deal with the aftermaths of a party and a slightly imperfectly executed mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is all Alyse's fault. We were discussing Pern fandom, and the problems dragonriders have when their dragons are on heat. Must be something like a hangover, she said, and came out with the lines, "Oh my head -- WTF! There's a naked man in my bed!" Except that I "heard" it in Sam's voice.
> 
> Totally her fault.

Sam Curtis woke slowly and carefully. His mouth had that well used feeling that lots of alcohol always brought on, and if he moved too fast either his head or his guts would explode. Waking up was going to be one of those major operations that required detailed advance planning, so he just lay there for a while with his eyes closed.

The post operation celebration had been a good one. Sam and Chris had been given a blessed twenty-four hours off for good behaviour, failing to wind up the Met and getting their report in quickly. At least Sam got the report in quickly, while Chris made "helpful" suggestions. Then they had gone down the pub with Backup and Spencer and got righteously drunk. Sam couldn't remember much more than that. He didn't normally let himself get that drunk, but it wasn't every day that you snatched a major international terrorist out of his supposedly secret safe house. It also wasn't every day that you got to relax in the middle of a bunch of people you trusted implicitly to watch your back, and Sam had been tired of controlling himself. He must be letting Chris get to him, he thought. The American seemed able to let go at the drop of a hat whenever he was with his colleagues, and Sam envied him that level of trust.

Sam's bladder made known its opinion that just lying there was not a tenable option in the long term. It wasn't that surprising since he'd got through several pints — he couldn't actually recall how many — of an extremely drinkable beer. He planned out the extended campaign that would get him to the bathroom, and came to the conclusion that there were two major obstacles. First, unwrapping himself from the warm body that he was so comfortably spooned around without waking her up was going to be tricky, and second, he didn't want to. Besides, he had absolutely no idea who she was. Oh, there had been plenty of good-looking women around, and Spence and Backup had had entirely too much fun egging him and Chris on when they were nearly incapable. He could remember that much, though hardly clearly, but he hadn't a clue who he had actually pulled. He was surprised enough that he had pulled at all; she must have been as drunk as he was.

Slowly he moved his upper hand down to hold her hips so that he could slide his trapped arm out from under, keeping his eyes firmly closed against the morning light that threatened him with the headache to end all headaches. He still didn't really want to do this; it was nice just lying there, one arm across her chest pressing her warmth into him. Sod it, his bladder could wait five minutes more, he thought, and slid his hand back up to cradle her breasts. Her amazingly... flat... breasts.

Sam came fully awake in a hurry. There was a man in his bed. A naked man. A naked man who was shifting gently in his arms, as if coming to wakefulness. Sam cracked his eyes open carefully and suppressed a groan. The tousled hair before him was all too familiar. He was sleeping with his partner, and both of them were naked. Sam was horrified, then mortified when he realised he was getting a hard-on. Chris was going to kill him for this. Think calming thoughts, he ordered himself sternly. Buckets of cold water. Malone on a bad day. Getting shot, which would frankly be a blessing right now.

He tried to slide away from Chris, moved his head a little too sharply and the hangover did nicely for his arousal. Unfortunately it left him a little too dazed to do anything as Chris turned over and buried his face in Sam's shoulder with a little sigh of contentment. Oh God, this was going to be bad, Curtis thought. "'S nice dream," Chris muttered in a little voice more asleep than awake. "Can't touch when I'm awake." And if that didn't guarantee a rude awakening, Sam thought bitterly, nothing would.

Shuffling a bit further away from Chris, Sam took his partner by both shoulders and shook him gently. "Chris, Chris mate, wake up. It's me, Sam," he said, slightly louder than he intended, and winced as his hangover-induced headache flared again. The effect on Keel was electric. His eyes flew open and he all but leapt away from his partner, balancing precariously as far away from him as he could get.

At this point Sam discovered that he had miscalculated his own position, and without Chris to grab onto he fell off the bed. "Ow," he said intelligently, and lay on the floor for a moment. It seemed to make him feel better, so he tried it again. "Ow, ow, ow."

Keel's head appeared cautiously over the edge of the bed, bloodshot eyes wide. "Sammy? You OK?"

"Aside from my wounded pride and the disco going on in my stomach, yeah, I'm fine. Which is more than you'll be if you call me 'Sammy' again." There was no particular force to Curtis' words, and Keel kept on staring at him. Belatedly Sam realised that he was lying naked in full view of his partner. Careful not to set his head spinning again, he sat up and arranged himself in a less... exposed manner, incidentally putting his head on a level with his partner.

Chris was still looking worried, almost afraid as well as embarrassed. "Uh, Sam, are you pissed?" he asked.

Sam looked away, considering the question carefully. "Probably," he said. "I feel like I'm still over the limit."

"No, I mean..." it was Chris' turn to frown in hungover concentration. "I mean pissed *off*. That's what you English say, isn't it?"

"Mm." Sam thought hard, and began to piece together the night's events. "Yes," he said eventually, "I'd have to say I'm pretty pissed off, all things considered." The sounds of motion on the bed alerted him to the fact that Chris had moved out of his immediate reach. "Oh, not with you, idiot. But fear not, I have a plan. First, I'm going to have a shower to try and get my brain going. Then I'm going to make a gallon — no, two gallons of coffee while you have a shower. And then, we're going to plot revenge."

"Revenge?" Chris sounded confused, and looked it too when Sam looked back. Good; Sam's plan to take control of the situation was clearly working. Chris was less embarrassed already, and after coffee he'd probably even be able to laugh about it. Partnership saved, tick v.g.

"Yes, revenge. I was in no condition to undress myself last night," never mind seduce anyone he added silently, "and you were no better. We had to have had help here."

"Spence and Backup?" Chris flopped back onto the bed and chuckled, then winced as his own hangover caught up with him. "They die," he said.

"Painfully," Sam agreed. There was a pause, then he added, "You know, there's just one flaw with this masterplan."

"Oh, what?"

"I don't think I can get up until the room stops spinning."

*****************

The alarm rang loudly through the alcoholic haze. Tina leaned over and did her usual violence to it, then collapsed back. "Oof," said her pillow, conversationally. She looked up at him fondly; last night really had been full of surprises. Including her own sense of humour.

"Do you think they'll forgive us?" she asked.

"What's all this 'us', kimo sabe?" Spencer shot back. "It was your idea."

"And you really think that's going to save you? I doubt either of them will be able to remember whose idea was which."

"Well, when you put it that way... probably not. Chris will forget inside a week, and you know it, but Sam won't. I'd say we've got some major humiliation coming our way." He sighed heavily. "Which makes last night doubly stupid."

"Regrets?"

"None." He caught her hand and stared earnestly into her eyes. "But Malone will have a fit when he finds out, and with Sam on our case he will find out."

They lay there for a few moments, then Tina sat up. "Well, we'll have to figure that out after work. Come on, time to get up, sleepyhead."

"Do I have to?" Spencer tried his best look of hurt innocence, to no avail. "It's early yet, we've got plenty of time."

"Not if we want to swing by your place we haven't. Your clothes stink of stale beer and cigarettes, and I don't somehow think you want to borrow one of my dresses. C'mon, shift."

"Slave driver. Are you going to do this often?"

"Only every chance I get."

"Oh, that's all right then."

*****************

The restorative powers of coffee were severely overestimated, Sam thought to himself glumly. He and Chris, both freshly showered and dressed in jogging pants and T-shirts that looked suspiciously baggy on the American, had made it as far as the lounge. Despite several mugs of strong black coffee, both still had the morose air of the hung over. They'd barely exchanged three words since getting up, and even thinking was a distinct effort. It was infinitely preferable just to stare out of the window, where the rain seemed to echo their inner gloom.

Sam had in fact considered cooking breakfast in an effort to revive them. He had only been able to contemplate the idea briefly, though, and had to spend the next ten minutes sending very firm messages to stomach. He had already embarrassed himself quite enough in front of his partner without running to the bathroom and throwing up noisily. He'd make time for the great white telephone later if he absolutely had to, but not while Chris was about.

"This," he said mostly to himself, "is why I don't get drunk."

"Hangovers are hell," Chris agreed.

"My entire body, up to and including my brain, is refusing to do what I tell it to."

"What, all of it?"

For some reason the memory of his earlier unwanted erection sprang to Sam's mind. "All of it," he said in depressed tones. If Chris had been awake at that moment, Sam was in no doubt that their partnership would be over.

"So what are you telling it to do now?"

"Oh, lots of things. I'm trying to think, for starters, but my head's still fuzzy." Sam glared balefully at the magazines on the table. "I really ought to tidy those up, too. And the mess we left in the bedroom. And I refuse to even contemplate what you've done to my bathroom."

"Hey," Chris protested, "I was a good boy. It's not like I threw up or anything."

"Don't say things like that," Sam said queasily. "Not for another hour at least."

"OK." There was a long pause that Chris finally broke. "You know what I could really do with right now?" he asked with a glint of pure mischief in his eye.

"Please don't say 'another drink'."

"No, I was thinking more like some toast."

"Ugh. How can you even think of food at a time like this?"

"Hot toast, with loads of butter melting onto it."

"Chris, if you make me heave I swear your life won't be worth living." Keel sighed theatrically and shook his head — carefully, Sam was pleased to note — grinning hugely the whole while. "So apart from your cravings for the inedible, what are you trying to find the coordination for just now?"

The smile vanished. "I was trying to figure out how to apologise."

Uh-huh. Sam had figured that something like this would be coming. Chris was good at feeling guilty about things he had nothing to do with. Time to take control again. Sam put on a tolerantly amused smile and drawled "Nothing to apologise for, mate, except maybe making me fall out of bed. We were set up, it's hardly your fault."

"Yeah, but... it must have been a shock, me cuddling up to you like that."

"Not half as much as waking up to find you there in the first place!" Chris still looked miserable, apparently finding the fabric of his T-shirt fascinating, and Sam struggled to replay the incident in his head. What had the American said? Oh yes. "Look Chris, I was a warm body and you were still dreaming. It was perfectly natural for you to mistake me for your wife. Just be grateful I woke you up before you went any further."

Keel's ears reddened dramatically, and Curtis berated himself. That last sentence had been a big mistake, but before he could open his mouth to repair the damage, Chris was speaking.

"She's dead, you know."

"I'd guessed it must be something like that," Sam replied softly. He wanted to go over and hug his friend, reassure him, but that would be catastrophically stupid right now. He only had words to work with, and at this point he was hardly at his best with them. "Want to talk about it?" he asked.

"Not really." The T-shirt was apparently still fascinating. Sam had to pull his partner out of this funk somehow. He opted for an indirect attack.

"Do you believe in karma?" Chris looked up in surprise; at least Sam had got his attention. "You know, good people getting rewards, bad people getting punished."

"I must be a very bad person then," Chris said with a bitter laugh.

"No, you're one of the best. That's why you are going to find someone else special. You deserve it." Chris mumbled something inaudible, his ears positively scarlet. "Say again?"

"I said I have found someone, but they aren't interested."

"You sure of that?" Sam asked lightly. Chris shot him a penetrating look. "'Cos knowing you, you haven't asked her."

Chris looked down again. "I'm sure," he said quietly.

Sam shook his head. "You're hopeless. And I need more coffee. Want some?" Chris nodded, and Sam hauled himself up. He paused at the kitchen door and looked back at his partner. "You know, I might just make some toast after all."

Chris waited until he had left the room before releasing a soul-deep sigh.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam was beginning to get another headache. The previous day had actually finished quite well, all things considered. Once their hangovers had subsided and they had got some food inside them (and Sam had disgusted Chris by smothering his toast in Marmite), the two agents had relaxed considerably. They had even come up with a tolerably plausible plan of campaign against their tormentors before Chris' taxi had arrived to take him home. Sam had almost asked him to stay over again — on the couch, this time — but hadn't quite dared. Afterwards he wished that he had. The flat seemed empty without the exuberant American there, and Sam had to spend a lot of time persuading himself that he liked the solitude before the TV became an adequate companion.

Work was another matter entirely. Their carefully constructed assault had so far failed to get anywhere, since Backup and Spencer were watching each other's backs like hawks. The office was their territory, and it was proving much harder than anticipated to get at anything unprotected. Worse, Richards was watching their whole dance with undisguised delight. He hadn't made any obvious comments so he probably didn't know just what had happened, but he clearly knew that something had gone on that required that revenge be extracted. Sam briefly considered enlisting his aid, but decided that the probable price was too high.

Sam had to acknowledge that he was not trying as hard as he might have. He was keeping half an eye on his partner, trying to work out if Chris' "someone special" was one of their co-workers as he suspected. He had vague plans to go and drop hints when he found out; Chris deserved better than what life was throwing at him. Chris was not cooperating, however, and seemed to be flirting with anything in a skirt, Backup included. He looked like his normal bouncy self, but Sam was sensitive enough to his partner's moods to detect a slight air of desperation about him. Chris needed to reassert his manliness, that was pretty obvious, but Sam found himself vaguely annoyed at having his own plans disrupted in consequence.

When Malone called all four of them into his office, it was almost a relief. Chris would feel better after the release of some action; he always did, even when he could barely walk away. With any luck, Sam thought, the adrenaline rush would blow away whatever cobwebs were left and they could get back to normal.

Once the office door was shut, Malone peered at his operatives over his glasses. "Helmut Gruller," he said, without preamble.

Spencer closed his eyes briefly. "Austrian arms dealer, rumoured to be connected with several mutually incompatible militias in the Balkans, wanted in connection with terrorist activity in Spain."

"Very good, Mr Spencer. I've just been talking to the Chief Commissioner. Apparently he has received information that Herr Gruller is in London on business. Normally of course he would use his own men to apprehend such people," Malone smoothly ignored Keel's snort of disbelief at this thought, "but it seems that Gruller has information sources of his own within the police.

"Mr Curtis, Mr Keel, Ms Backus, you will proceed to stake out Gruller's warehouse and apprehend anyone in the act of purchasing weaponry. I need not add that we wish them taken alive if at all possible. Mr Spencer, you will hunt for Gruller's bank accounts and trace any recent unusual movements. Let us see if we can present the Commissioner with his mole as well. Questions?"

Spencer looked briefly as if he had a question, but changed his mind abruptly. Sam was morally certain that Backup had kicked the Ops supervisor, but fortunately for them Chris attracted Malone's attention. "Sir, do we have any information as to when the deal is going down?"

"Regrettably little, Mr Keel. It will be some time within the next three days, but beyond that our information source was unwilling to commit themselves. If there are no more questions...?" There weren't. "You have your orders. Dismissed."

As the agents trooped to the door, Malone stopped them again. "Oh, gentlemen, Ms Backus, I would appreciate it if there were a little less horseplay in the office in future."

****************

Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored. Sometimes, Sam thought, he spent more of his time watching and waiting than doing anything else. It was boring, there was no doubt of that, but like a good little agent Sam never let it show on his face. He would be there appreciating a drink, listening to music or nose apparently deeply in a book, his attention all the while focused on the job. Boredom he could handle.

Chris, on the other hand, was a champion fidget. Anyone would have thought the American couldn't stay still for the life of him. Anyone would have been wrong, as Sam well knew having seen Chris remain absolutely motionless for a full half hour as jungle patrols walked within ten feet of them. It was just that without something concrete to focus on, Chris seemed to get restless. Bored, perhaps, and less able or inclined to hide it.

This wasn't necessarily a bad thing, since Chris never let his restlessness interfere with work. Indeed, odds were that Chris would spot their prey before Sam did. It just annoyed the hell out of Sam, that was all. Not that he let that show either; it wouldn't be fair to chew out his partner over something he couldn't help, so he restrained himself to the occasional sarcastic comment to try and tease himself some peace.

Chris seemed more than usually distracted this afternoon, so Sam tried a different tactic. Maybe if he ignored his partner, he'd quieten down. Not that ignoring his partner was easy; he could still remember his body's reaction to discovering Chris in bed with him. It was a perfectly natural reaction to having a warm, naked body so close, but it still bothered him a lot. He'd have to go out on the pull himself this evening, if they got any bloody time off this stake-out.

"Penny for 'em?"

Sam's thoughts abruptly jumped tracks. There was no way he was going to discuss what he'd just been thinking with Chris. "I was wondering about Backup and Spencer," he said instead.

"What about them?"

"I'm not sure. Little things are beginning to niggle at me."

Snort. "Now there's a Britishism I hadn't heard before. So what's 'niggling' at you then?"

"The way they were double-teaming us all morning, for starters. And the word is 'Anglicism' by the way."

"Anglicism, Britishism, whatever. You know what I meant."

"And they knew what they meant too. It was like they were more aware than normal of what was going on with each other."

"Mm. I get your drift. I did notice that every time I started making a move on Backup, Spencer started tracking you. He's a bit obvious about it."

"Backup kept Spencer quiet during the briefing too. It's normally your ankle that she bruises."

"Can I help it if I take Malone at face value when he asks for an honest opinion?"

"Apparently not. I wouldn't start celebrating your freedom just yet, though."

"So you reckon they're an item?"

Chris seemed to be taking this in good cheer, indeed with a little malicious twinkle in his eye, so Sam mentally crossed Tina Backus off his list of 'special people.' "That's as good an explanation as any I can come up with. Now, how are we going to use that?" He grinned evilly at his partner, who matched him with a chuckle.

The radio broke up their plotting, Backup calling in from her separate vantage point. "5-3. We have company."

Chris slipped his headset on. "Acknowledged," he said as they watched a battered blue Escort roll up to the warehouse. "Holding position for now." Thumbing off the transmitter a moment, he asked "Sam, is our man there?"

Sam was peering through binoculars at the men getting out of the car. "No sign of Gruller, no. I think those are the customers."

"What kind of dealer lets his customers arrive first?" Chris was frowning. "Something's wrong with this picture."

"A trap? For us or them?"

"Or PC Plod?"

"No, he would have expected to know if the police were moving in. This doesn't add up." Sam frowned too, trying to get inside the mind of the arms dealer. "We'd better wait, in case it's something mundane like the traffic."

"Traffic? Are you nuts? There's something else going on here."

Sam was inclined to agree, but he had a reputation for patience to maintain. "Five minutes, Chris. If Gruller hasn't turned up by then I'll admit that something fishy is going on. You can use the time getting your vest on." Chris looked momentarily rebellious. "Look, we're about to head into a warehouse full of people buying guns. What do you reckon are the chances that they'll try some practical demonstrations of the merchandise? Personally I think some kevlar insurance is in order."

The two operatives shrugged on their bullet-proof jackets. Chris was reluctant, preferring as ever to avoid reducing his freedom of movement, but Sam insisted. He hated firefights, which is what this operation seemed likely to turn into. His MI6 training, ground into his bones over the years, insisted that if he was being shot at his mission had already failed. Easy in, easy out and leave the building standing, that was the intelligence service philosophy. Shooting was for the marines. Or the SEALs, of course.

Five minutes later there was still no sign of Gruller, and Chris was starting to chew the scenery. Sam admitted defeat and slipped on his own headset. "3-7. We're going in."

"Acknowledged." Backup sounded a little hesitant. "Any sign of the target?"

"Negative. Advise extreme caution."

"You and me both. 5-3 out."

Curtis and Keel sneaked quickly up to the side door of the warehouse, hugging the walls as they went. A quick inspection showed just the padlock to be dealt with, so Curtis crouched and slipped out his lockpicks as his partner covered them. A few seconds later and the lock opened with a satisfying snick. Sam looked up at Chris. No words were necessary between them now, both were coolly efficient agents with anything other than their mission parameters banished to the backs of their minds. Sam cracked the door open, checking for booby traps, then allowed Chris to slip in past him. When the American didn't immediately dive out again, Sam also entered and silently closed the door.

The warehouse was a jumble of crates and boxes, almost ideal for their purposes. Sam didn't like it one little bit. Voices could be heard further into the warehouse, tempting them in. It was a trap, it had to be. He looked at Chris again, his cautiousness warring with Keel's gung-ho optimism. Chris won, and they split up as they headed in.

Sam listened hard as he prowled closer to the voices. It sounded like a deal; he could hear the haggling voices, the creak of crates opening and closing, the rustle of packing materiel, the solid thunk of metal set down on wood. Maybe he was being over-cautious; he often was, and one of the benefits of being partnered with Chris was that he was sometimes forced into action when he would otherwise have waited and lost the advantage.

"5-3 to 4-5," a voice whispered in his earpiece, "there's a guard around the corner ahead of you." Curtis strained his ears, ready to rush to his partner's aid if needed. Looking up, he could just about make out Backup's form, hidden on an overhead gantry. She would have a commanding view of the entire warehouse from up there — trust her!

"4-5 clear." Blessed relief almost dislodged Sam's mask of professionalism. Chris had taken out his opponent without a sound. Not that there was any doubt that he would have, but Sam worried all the same. "Any others out there?"

"One approaching 3-7 from ahead, ETA half a minute."

"Acknowledged." Sam slipped into the copious shadows around the crates and waited for the guard to walk past. The rest was automatic; hand around the mouth to silence him, pistol butt to back of head for knockout, grab the rifle to prevent it clattering. Not bad, Curtis, he thought to himself. A few moments later his foe was gagged and secured. "3-7 clear," he said. "Any more for any more?"

"Not that I can see." Backup sounded almost amused at Curtis laconic tone. "Situation is as expected, partial cover." Meaning that everyone was standing around crates that they could conceivably crouch behind. Backup was well placed to deal with those, but it would still be better to surprise them, not giving them the option to hide at all.

Sam moved forward on silent feet, keeping low behind the crates himself. The voices were clearer now. "...light weight and concealability make up for the relatively short range," a Germanic accent was saying. "Ideal for your purpose, nicht wahr?"

Sam was easing himself into position when a movement in the gantry caught his eye. "5-3, you've been made! Seven o'clock." Backup stepped aside, twisted and shot her assailant in one smooth motion. As she did so, Curtis and Keel rose simultaneously from behind their boxes and shouted "CI5, freeze!" One of the men turned quickly, bringing a gun to bear. Chris calmly shot him through the arm. The rest got the message, underlined by the sickening thud as their colleague fell from his perch overhead.

"That's better, gentlemen," Sam continued in an even, polite voice. "Now if you'd just care to step out into the open here, keeping your hands in full view at all times..." Curtis and Keel herded the criminals out into the exposed centre of the warehouse before advancing out of their own cover. Backup met them at ground level, gun in one hand and mobile in the other, calling in the paddy-wagon for clean up. Almost disappointingly easy, Sam thought.

Suddenly Chris was flying through the air at him, yelling for Sam to get down. Curtis threw himself backwards, twisting in the direction his partner had been looking at and bringing his gun up. He saw the man partly emerged from a trap-door in the floor, squeezing off one, two shots in his direction. No impacts, he must have missed. Sam's own gun spoke once, and the gunman wobbled and collapsed back out of view. Then Sam hit the floor, and had the breath driven out of him as Keel landed heavily on him.

When Sam could think again — something the proximity of his partner was not helping with one iota — Backup seemed to have the situation under control. One of the bad guys was rolling on the floor clutching his stomach, another was holding his arm, white with shock and red with blood, and the rest seemed in no doubt that this particular girl was no pushover. "OK Chris, you can get off me now."

Keel groaned. "I take back everything I said about kevlar."

"Again?" Curtis grinned. So that's where the shots had gone. His damned idiot partner had taken them for him. "You sit here and let your bruises ripen," he said, gently rolling Chris off and sitting him up. His partner hissed, but Sam thought no more of it until his hand came away red and wet. "Hell, Chris, you're hit!"

"No shit," his partner mumbled, holding one hand to his shoulder. Curtis flipped open his mobile and jammed it to his head. That left his hands free to rip away Keel's sleeve where the jacket ended and inspect the damage. Nasty, the analytic part of his mind informed him, but it could be much worse. All the same it was hard to keep his professional mask in place and the emotion out of his voice as he called in. This was _his_ partner, dammit.

"3-7 to base, we need an ambulance now."

"Acknowledged 3-7, the paramedics will be with you in... five mikes." Spencer sounded hesitant as he added, "Who's down?"

"4-5," Sam said flatly, wadding the remains of Chris' shirt sleeve over the wound. "Bullet wound to the right shoulder, bleeding freely, and not a word out of you Spence or I may have to rip your lungs out."

"I take it he's trying to be walking wounded again?" The relief in Spencer's voice was obvious to one listening for it, a slightly absent part of Sam's mind noted.

"No fair," Chris protested weakly. "It's not—"

He was interrupted by Backup snapping off a couple of shots and swearing viciously. "Gruller's getting away!" Obviously she couldn't pursue without losing the rest of the gang, and Chris was hors de combat. That left Sam, much as he didn't want to leave his wounded partner.

Chris must have seen the hesitation in his eyes. "First rule, Sammy," he said, looking away. "Go get the bastard. I'll survive."

Curtis allowed himself a moment's more weakness, then stood and closed his mobile. "Where?"

"Down the rabbit hole." Backup indicated the trapdoor with a wave of her gun, and Sam strode over rapidly, scanning for any further surprises Gruller might have in store for them. Finding none, he slid down the ladder, almost landing on the corpse beneath with the single neat hole through its head. He smiled a cold, grim smile; no one shot his partner and got away with it.

****************

Jimmy Cochrane slowly eased the knife out of his boot. He was sitting slightly awkwardly with the others in the middle of the warehouse floor, all easy shots for the girl with the gun and too far away to have a chance of rushing her. Unless he could get that gun away from her.

Jimmy had been a heavy for most of his adult life, and he'd learned a few tricks. Like always having that knife stashed away, and getting damn good throwing it at warehouse rats over the years. He could hit her, no problem at this range, and the bullet-proof vest would do her no good at all. The trick was going to be to make her drop the gun, getting just the right strike on her arm, and to do it without alerting her. Carefully, he extended his throwing arm behind him, concealing the knife from her with his body.

To say he was surprised when the wounded man shot the knife out of his hand was a bit of an understatement. He looked shakily over to where the man was sitting, propped up against a crate of M-16s and still looking as pale as he had when Jimmy discounted him earlier. "I'm wounded, not blind," the operative said in an aggrieved voice.

"Nice shot," was the girl's only comment.

"I was aiming for his head."

**************

The tunnel ran down a short way before joining the storm drains. It seemed that Gruller had made his own escape route ahead of time. Smart man, Sam thought, not that it would save the gun-runner. He could hear running feet splashing away from him, and set off in silent pursuit. This was familiar; this he could deal with easily. As Sam had snapped to Chris on more than one occasion, he might not have the American's survival skills, but in the urban jungle it was another matter entirely. He had had a lot of practice at crawling through sewers over the years — admittedly mostly freezing cold Russian sewers — and they were now very much part of his territory.

As he padded on, eyes absently scanning for the tripwires that probably weren't going to be there, Curtis considered his options. Judging from Gruller's noisy splashing (and noting the possibility that it was bait for a trap) he would catch up soon. Gruller was likely armed, so that would mean a running gunfight (to be avoided) and wounding or possibly killing his prey (contrary to mission parameters). However, if he was prepared to take a slight risk...

If Sam remembered rightly, this section of drains had an access tunnel running parallel. Yes, there was a ladder and access panel. If he slipped across, he could get ahead of Gruller and ambush the dealer at close quarters. There was a slight danger of Gruller having made himself another bolt-hole or picking another route to the surface, or just spotting Sam ahead of him, but that was acceptable.

Quickly, Sam ascended the ladder and noiselessly entered the access tunnel. He could afford to move more quickly here, with less need to be silent and more guarantee that there would be no booby-traps. Workers used these tunnels regularly, and anything set up to discommode a CI5 agent would have been tripped by them long ago. Sam didn't believe for a minute that Gruller would want to draw attention to his private back door that way, but he kept his eyes open none the less.

Sam had made up about half the ground that he estimated he needed when he heard something behind him. He stopped and listened, and recognised the sound of the access panel being opened. He needed only a moment's consideration before melting into the shadows. Gruller had evidently had the same thought about the tunnels. Possibly he was vain enough to just want somewhere drier to walk. Whatever the reason, he had fallen in nicely with Sam's plan.

Gruller's footsteps were quieter and slower now, but still clear to Sam's keyed-up hearing. As he came into view, the Austrian was casting frequent glances behind himself, paranoid about being followed but utterly oblivious to the danger lurking ahead. Sam didn't grin; that would be unprofessional. Instead he selected the simplest option available to him. As Gruller passed, Sam stepped out of the shadows, took firm hold of the arms dealer's gun hand, pressed his own gun into Gruller's gut and politely suggested that if Mr Gruller had quite finished his exercise it was time that they got back to the warehouse.

To give him credit, Gruller didn't try to fight the inevitable. Knowing that a marksman has you at point blank range has that sort of effect. He dropped his gun and stepped away as ordered, but his eyes were blazing. The verbal assault he subjected Sam to was quite vicious, quickly slipping into his native German as he ranted on about how he had friends, how he would be out before the agent even knew it, how Curtis would be out of a job (he evidently believed that they were a police unit) and would never know when Gruller would put him out of his misery... Sam kept a pleasantly blank smile plastered on his face, waiting until he was fairly sure that Gruller wasn't going to give any more away. Then, in his best Viennese-accented German he read the man his rights. Gruller's face was a picture. Sam didn't allow his smile to get past his professional mask all the same.


	3. Chapter 3

Chris was being a menace to all medical staff again. The paramedics (who Spencer had ready primed on the grounds that Curtis and Keel were bound to shoot someone) had insisted on getting him to hospital despite his protests. He had lost a lot of blood, they pointed out, and needed to get his shoulder wound properly treated. The ease with which they manhandled him into the ambulance belied his claims to be perfectly all right, thank you very much.

Sam was tied up herding their captives, much as he wished to be by his partner's side. The first rule applied, he reminded himself. He didn't have to like it, but he was damned if he would show it. That would be unprofessional. Still, the moment he was no longer needed he was in his car and on his way to the hospital. Malone could phone if he wanted him.

The drive to the hospital was not a comfortable one. Sam kept replaying the incident over and over in his head, making it worse each time. He should have spotted the shooter, then Chris wouldn't have needed to jump. He shouldn't have relaxed. He had done everything wrong. No, not quite everything; if he hadn't insisted on the vests, Chris could have been killed. That wasn't something he wanted to think about, so of course he did.

He was pretty much a nervous wreck by the time he reached Keel's bedside. The American was almost chirpy, letting a pretty nurse minister to the massive bruise on his ribcage (oh God, Chris _would_ have been dead) now that his shoulder was neatly bandaged up, but Curtis wasn't fooled for a moment. His partner was trying to pretend to be well enough to be discharged, but Sam could see all the signs of pain and tiredness clearly written on his face.

Chris was in one piece, but part of Sam still needed an official reassurance. "So, will he ever play the violin again?" he asked lightly.

The nurse ignored Keel's disgusted snort. "He'll be fine. Give him a week or two of resting that shoulder," she looked sharply at Chris who treated her to his most innocent smile, "and he'll be running you ragged again."

"So I can go home then?" Chris asked, treating her to another blast of his dimples.

"Not on your life. The state you're in now, you could pass out on the floor and catch pneumonia for your troubles." She smirked and waved a mock-admonishing finger at the pair of them. "Besides, we have to have one of you two in for at least one day a month. It's in the union rules, it seems."

Sam weighed up his options. Strictly speaking he ought to leave his partner here, give him a reason to dodge better next time. On the other hand... "How about releasing him into my care? I faithfully promise to look after him, make sure he eats properly, tuck him into bed by nine, the usual."

"Hey, I do eat properly!"

"No Chris, you eat pizza." The nurse was looking torn, so Sam tried a low blow. "It would free up a bed for you."

"You know the drill?" She rolled her eyes. "Why am I bothering to ask? You two should get money off vouchers the amount of time you spend in here! I'll have to check with the Registrar, but it'll probably be OK."

Chris watched her leave, then settled back on his bed with a happy sigh. "Thanks buddy," he said.

"For taking you away from such delightful views?"

"For getting me out of here. Malone gets so pissed when I try to break out on my own."

"Ha. Don't thank me yet, I meant it about tucking you in. This way you get to help me with the report, too." They grinned at each other, and Sam found himself relaxing. True, he had to keep half an eye on Chris, but that wouldn't be too much of a problem. Keel mostly needed food and rest, and Curtis could provide those without even thinking. That's what partners were for, after all.

***************

Sam woke with a start, and took a moment to reorient himself to the surroundings. He was sleeping on his couch, which doubled as a moderately comfy bed. Chris had tried to protest when Sam had told him he was getting the bed, but Sam was not about to let his partner get away with any noble suffering this time. Chris needed proper rest to let his battered body heal, and he was going to get it if Sam had to knock him out and tie him down.

The sound that woke him came again, a little whimper spilling softly from the bedroom. Chris. He must be having another of his nightmares. Sam padded to the door on silent feet, concern clear in his green eyes. Chris was indeed writhing on the bed in the grip of some unnamed terror, grief and pain written in the lines of his face and limbs. Sam's heart went out to his partner; he couldn't leave him like that.

Gently, Sam knelt by the bedside and reached out to the restless sleeper. One hand rested lightly on Chris' unwounded shoulder while the other gently stroked his hair. "It's OK, Chris," Sam whispered softly, "I'm here, it's OK."

Chris didn't calm down immediately, but gave a wordless little cry and wrapped his arms around Curtis. Sam felt himself dragged down by a desperate strength. "Thought I'd lost you," Chris murmured as he crushed himself to his partner's body.

Sam felt the wetness of tears through his pyjamas, and his own face crumpled. Chris had been dreaming about his wife, that was obvious, and he needed her back. Badly. If Sam could ease his dream by being there, he had to; Chris deserved that much. Slowly, careful to avoid Chris' injuries, Sam hugged his partner. "I'm here now, you can sleep now." The American relaxed slightly as gentle hands rubbed his back, loosening the muscles wound tight by the nightmare.

It took a long while before Sam was sure that Chris was sleeping peacefully again. It unnerved him in some ways; Chris had no trouble in letting his emotions off normally, whether it was playing one of his elaborate practical jokes or threatening to blow his top at some scum, but Sam had only ever seen him show fear when the nightmares hit. Something that affected Chris that deeply, that reached so far into the core of him... That had to be dealt with.

Sam knew that their partnership was one of the strongest in CI5. The two of them had an almost intuitive understanding, guarding each other's backs almost on instinct and playing to each other's strengths. It went without saying that they covered each other's weaknesses too. Now that he could see what the nightmares were doing to his partner, Sam knew he had to do something about it. Guarding Chris' back in dreams as he was doing now was only a temporary measure. He had to help Chris confront his ghosts in the waking world.

It was ironic really. Sam dealt with emotions by burying them, putting on masks for the outside world, and by approaching everything as if it were an unexploded bomb. Chris was the one who charged ahead, forcing Sam into action. Now Sam had to force Chris into action, into digging up the emotions that his complex partner had tried to bury. That could never work for Chris, not for long, he was just too open. The things he tried to hide surfaced in his dreams, and that, Sam rationalised to himself, would have long term effects on their efficiency.

Leaning over the bed, half-lying on Chris was not the most comfortable of positions to be in. Sam certainly had no intention of spending the night like that; he'd be so stiff in the morning that he would barely be able to move. Careful not to wake the sleeper, Sam loosened his grip and tried to slip gently out of Chris' grasp. Chris gave a distressed gasp, half waking again and convulsively tightening his arms. "Don't go, please!"

"Shh. It's all right, I'm still here." Sam hugged Chris to him again, gently stroking the American's back until he calmed down again. Letting go obviously wasn't an option. Sam considered the alternatives and suppressed a sigh. If he didn't want to wake Chris or throw his back out, there was only one thing to do. Slowly, so as not to wake the sleeper, he climbed into bed with his partner.

**************

Waking up the second time that morning was on the whole a much more pleasant experience, Sam decided. Chris had hung on to him all night, practically moulding his body to Sam's to keep the nightmare at bay. It was actually rather reassuring for Sam as well, waking up in those arms that he trusted. He would worry about Chris' reaction later.

In sleep, Chris looked much younger than his twenty nine years. Perhaps that was just Sam's imagination, or perhaps it was the weariness that their job forced on everyone. Whatever the reason, he looked so vulnerable now that Sam couldn't help hugging him again, wanting to protect him against the worst that the world could throw at them. If only he didn't keep on getting himself injured!

Chris stirred as Sam ran his hand through his partner's spiky hair. Sam schooled his face quickly, putting on the mask of the professional co-worker as those clear blue eyes opened. He allowed himself an indulgent smile, trying to wordlessly reassure Chris that nothing untoward had happened.

A variety of expressions flickered across Chris' mobile face as they looked into each other's eyes. Uncertainty, fear, then finally trust. Sam's throat constricted, despite his mask; trust was something he found hard to give and even harder to accept. It came with the territory in MI6. You expect other people to lie and cheat, because that's what you've been doing to them. Chris was almost the only person he trusted without question, and to have that trust returned... he doubted Chris knew what a precious gift that was.

"You had a nightmare," he said simply. "This seemed to help. Sorry if I disturbed you."

"Don't be." Chris paused, choosing his words with care. "I appreciate what you've done. It did help, a lot."

Sam shrugged, almost embarrassed. "What kind of partner would I have been to leave you to that?" It was his turn to choose his words carefully now. He had resolved last night to help Chris get this out in the open, and this seemed like the best chance he would get. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Let me rephrase that. Are you going to talk to me or am I going to let on to Backup that you're ticklish?"

Chris actually looked alarmed at that. "You wouldn't," he said with less than total conviction. "You're still too pissed with her about the other night."

"I would, and stop trying to change the subject. You were reliving your wife's death, weren't you?"

Chris looked away, and Sam wondered if he'd pushed too hard. It was on the tip of his tongue to back off and apologise when Chris sighed deeply. "It was our wedding day," he said. "Teresa and I were just so happy, we thought we were going to be together forever. I... I really loved her, you know."

"I know." Sam gave his partner a little squeeze. "It wouldn't hurt so much if you didn't."

"Have you ever loved anyone like that?"

That stopped Sam. He wanted to dodge the question, but with Chris finally opening up he was obliged to reciprocate. "No," he said slowly, "I don't think so. I had the usual teenage crushes, but love? No. I've spent my life in the intelligence services. It doesn't exactly encourage you when every other beautiful woman you meet is just trying to pump you for information." I'm not sure I know what love is, he added silently.

"It sounds awfully lonely."

"It was. I envy you."

Chris laughed, a harsh little laugh. "Don't," he said. "It's only meant trouble for me. I envy you the way that you just push your emotions aside."

It was Sam's turn to snort. "Only for a while. I have to deal with them eventually or they come back to haunt me, just like Teresa is haunting you."

Chris was silent for a while, digesting that. "It all happened so fast," he said, evidently taking the hint. "We were just about to cut the cake when someone burst into the garden. I didn't even register him as a threat until he started spraying automatic fire around. By the time I got Teresa to cover she'd been hit and our parents were dead. She... she died in my arms." Chris sniffed, wiping away tears, and Sam held him tight in silent encouragement. "She died because I wasn't fast enough, or smart enough, or alert enough." The words were a bitter self-reproach.

Sam wasn't standing for that. "No. That was a day for others to be there for you. No one could expect you to think of anything other than your bride on your wedding day. You can't blame yourself for what happened."

"But I should have known!"

"How could you?"

"I failed her."

"How? There was nothing to be done. Chris..." Sam paused trying to sort out his own emotions as much as his partner's. "If the positions were reversed, if you had taken the bullets instead," and thank God he hadn't, "would you want Teresa to think like that?"

"It's not the same, she wasn't trained to—"

"You don't need training to push someone to the ground. Or to feel guilty for that matter. She wouldn't want you to keep beating yourself up like this, would she?"

There was no reply for what felt like an eternity, then Chris gave a sigh. "I guess not. It's just... I miss her so much, Sam!"

"I know." Sam held his partner tightly to him, his own eyes misting up. He didn't want Chris to see his tears, not now. "It's time to let go," he managed to say in an even voice, "time to leave the nightmare behind before it starts affecting the rest of your life."

Chris was crying openly now, and his whispered response was lost in the sobs. Sam held him close, offering what reassurance he could. This wasn't the end of Chris' nightmares, he wasn't arrogant enough to think that, but now he knew the extent of his partner's guilt he knew they could make it.

"I haven't told you everything yet," Chris said more loudly through the tears. "The nightmare's been changing. For a while now, it hasn't just been Teresa there."

"That 'someone' you've found." Sam didn't make a question of it, but Chris nodded. Sam pulled back slightly so that he could look his partner in the eyes. If he knew Chris, the American would be trying to assuage his guilt by making extra sure that nothing hurt his new love. "You're going to have to tell her sooner or later you know, or she'll wonder why you're so protective."

Chris looked away. "I don't think I could take the rejection," he said softly.

Sam took hold of his partner's head, forcing him to look him in the eyes again. "If she says no, she didn't deserve you in the first place and there's no point worrying, and anyway I've never known anyone to resist you once you turn on the charm. Whatever happens, I'll always be here for you. You do know that, don't you? _Always._ "

Chris looked almost ashamed. "You say that now—"

"A partner isn't just for Christmas, mate. I genuinely can't think of a single thing you could say or do that will change that."

"Not even..." Chris took a couple of deep breaths. "Just tell 'em, huh?" Sam nodded, grey-green eyes locked to the brilliant blue opposite him, willing his partner the courage he needed.

"It's you."

Sam was quite proud of his reaction. He didn't flinch, he didn't pull away, he didn't stiffen. He had things completely under control right up to the point where he realised his mouth was hanging open. "You... I... but.... Oh." Well done Curtis, he thought, really intelligent response there.

Chris was pulling away from him a little sadly. "See?" he said. "I'd better collect my things up and get out of your way."

"The hell you will!" Sam said, and kissed him firmly on the mouth.

It took them quite some time to come up for air, and by the time they did Chris was looking a little dazed. So was Sam, truth to tell, but now he understood better why holding Chris had seemed the most natural thing in the world.

Chris smiled at him, dimples blazing, and Sam felt his heart give a little lurch. "I didn't think you'd understand. I... I didn't want to lose you too."

"I know what you mean." Sam smiled back, all masks cast aside. There was literally nothing he wouldn't do for this man. He'd known it for months, but he hadn't been able to put a name to his feelings. "So this is what being in love feels like."

"Like it?"

"How could I not?"

They kissed again, taking their time, knowing that this was only the beginning.


End file.
